Page 74 of The Duke of Ice
She frowned at him, her eyes narrowing with a bit of her own ire. “I don’t need you to tell me what I should want. I’ve had quite enough of people deciding things for me, thank you very much.”
Yes, he supposed she had. He knew this wouldn’t be easy—him trying to regain some semblance of a happy life. And seeing if he could do that with her. He needed air.
“I have to go.” He pulled out of her embrace. “And this time, you’re bloody letting me.”
She held up her hands. “I can’t control you,” she said softly. “Nor do I want to.”
Good, because he could barely control himself.
Chapter 15
The past twodays had been a blur of social activity. Nick’s presence had been sought by the Queen, which Violet understood. Queen Charlotte had also requested Violet’s presence, particularly on an outing in Sydney Gardens. Since Violet resided in Bath, the Queen had been keen to hear all about the local sights and activities.
Last night, they’d celebrated Gunpowder Treason Day with an excess of bonfire and illumination, as well as a fireworks display over Sydney Gardens. The Queen had been thoroughly delighted.
They’d also visited Bailbrook House, where war widows and children learned to knit and sew buttons. Violet had watched Nick through the entire visit to see how it affected him. He’d been stoic and aloof. The Duke of Ice had returned.
Except at night.
At night, he came to her house, where they reveled in each other’s touch. However, they didn’t talk, not about anything substantive, and Violet wondered if there was any hope for them in the long term. She hoped so. She wanted there to be. But Nick had to find a way to let go of the past. He said he didn’t want to focus on it. What he didn’t realize was that it consumed him.
She stood near the windows in the Pump Room, watching Nick as he spoke with another gentleman. A hush started at the other end of the room, and Violet saw people bending their heads toward each other.
Strolling forward, she went to a table where two of her acquaintances were seated. Someone from the next table leaned over and said, “Princess Charlotte has died.”
Violet immediately thought of the Queen, with whom she’d spent so much time in recent days, and her heart twisted. She turned and went to Nick as a member of the Queen’s entourage joined him.
“The princess delivered a stillborn son and died shortly afterward,” the gentleman said quietly, his features creased with distress.
Violet couldn’t help but touch Nick’s arm, knowing this had to affect him. He didn’t say anything, but some of the color left his face.
“How tragic,” Violet murmured.
“The Queen will be leaving posthaste to return to Windsor for the funeral.” He looked at Nick. “You must go.”
Nick didn’t return the man’s stare but nodded slowly.
The gentleman moved away to continue sharing the information.
“Nick, are you all right?” Violet kept her voice low but wasn’t able to disguise the urgent concern she felt for him.
He looked at her, but she had the sense he wasn’t seeing her. “I’ll see you later.”
She stood, feeling helpless as she watched him stalk from the room. Later… Presumably, he’d come to see her tonight. She would hold him and hopefully break down some of the barriers he’d erected around his heart. If she didn’t, she wasn’t sure where they could go.
She still loved him, and in the time they’d spent together, she’d fallen in love with him all over again. No, he wasn’t the same man she’d met, but neither was she the same woman. He was a man touched by tragedy who’d inherited a role he’d never expected and, from what she could discern, had done so masterfully. He deserved happiness—far more than anyone she’d ever known—and she wanted to be the one to share it with him. But she’d begun to think that might not be possible.
And her heart threatened to break all over again.
* * *
“Much better, Your Grace.” Rand surveyed his handiwork as Nick wiped his hand over his mouth and felt the smooth skin of his face for the first time in two days. He hadn’t left his house—hell, he’d scarcely left his chamber. He’d been too wrapped in grief.
The death of Princess Charlotte and her son had brought back every emotion he’d worked so hard to bury. It was as if Jacinda and Elias had died all over again.
So Nick had crawled into bed and hidden from the world, just as he’d done after they’d died. He wished he could say he felt better after succumbing to his emotions, but he didn’t. Instead, he felt drained and a bit…empty.
“It’s good to see you up and about,” Rand said, cleaning up his shaving implements. “Shall we finish your toilet?”
